


The Saints Can't Help Me Now

by ViceCaptain



Series: The Ropes have been Unbound [2]
Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Spoilers, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViceCaptain/pseuds/ViceCaptain
Summary: Bottom line, he is no poet but, Christ, he has never wanted so much to be one, because otherwise how can one find the right words to describe that?How can one put into words the absolute wonder that is in front of him? Miraculous, broken, beautiful, ever so beautiful, Kieren Walker.





	The Saints Can't Help Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> Just ramblings, fueled by my love for the characters, the series, the need to know more and Florence and the Machine. This series was inspired by Howl.

He is no poet. Sure, he loves to read poetry, it probably was the only healthy interest he had before dying, he had read many and still does. He would always choose a poem as an epitaph if he was to die again. It is simply astonishing how words can fall one into the other and flow like music, pull forward emotions and evoke images.

Simon is no poet, he has a way with words, but it has nothing to do with metric and the beauty of the soul. One would think, with all the trips he’s had in his intoxicated life, he would have brought back something, some amazing image, some magical landscape… but no, the only thing that always found him was his disenchantment about life and maybe that was what made him love poetry so much: how much more someone could see into the rain or the moonlight. But not him, never him. He is more of a magician with his words, makes them beautiful and spectacular so that people hear them and gasp and gape and agree, while he’s hiding the trick behind them.

Bottom line, he is no poet but, Christ, he has never wanted so much to be one, because otherwise how can one find the right words to describe that?  
How can one put into words the absolute wonder that is in front of him?  
Miraculous, broken, beautiful, ever so beautiful, Kieren Walker. 

How can he describe the perfect white skin, so much skin, while he lays before his very eyes? What’s the name of the sound of his voice? Music? Song? Fuck if he knows, but he just can’t get enough of hearing it. Because he’s the one that is causing it to stream from his sinful mouth into broken sounds. Would you believe it? How is he able to do such a thing? He should have no right to it, not even a month ago he was about to kill him. Or he had believed he was about to, but when he saw Kieren fight against the Blue Oblivion… No, when he had seen him close enough, he already knew he wouldn’t have been able to do it.

The second rising found them at last and it had nothing to do with graves being ripped open or undead bringing forth the apocalypse. It arrived quietly, but tragically. The first had been Amy, because of course it had to be her. It was taken away from her and they were there and even if they had died once long ago, it was a new kind of pain seeing her dying in front of them. But then eventually, their hearts started beating again.

Kieren’s heart came back to life when they were having a fight, of all things. They rember that fight, oh yes. None of them could say how it started or why, but they’ll tell you exactly how it ended and for how long they kissed one another after that. As for Simon’s heart… well, it had been upsetting, maybe because that’s what he does: he upsets people, everything about him has to be like that, apparently. His second rising happened while they were sleeping, quietly cuddling against one another, when he suddenly felt it and sat up, the scar on his back started bleeding because really, no one ever bothered to stitch it properly. They both got a scare, Kieren punching his arm as soon as doctor Russo had finished with him. He said he wasn’t allowed to do something like that ever again, then he had hugged him and probably cried, but he was possibly crying too.

And now here they are, determined to know how much their bodies could feel, Simon’s mouth too busy making Kieren writhe and sob to speak and he’s thinking he can do that for the rest of his life, non-life, however that’s called. What about his taste? It’s intoxicating, he had tried every kind of drug, done every kind of stuff but he never had tasted something as inebriating, god bless his senses for coming back.

Kieren’s touch is tentative at first, has the soft touch of who is afraid of hurting and being hurt again, but even when he gets bolder he’s always gentle, making him sigh and feel welcomed and loved. And Simon wants to give him the same back, if the town’s program about giving back was to be about that, he would have been top of the class, volunteer of the year and teacher’s pet. 

He kisses and sucks and marks, burns in his memory everything he’s seeing and causing, how Kieren fists the sheets or caresses his hair, how he arches from the bed and looks at him with fogged eyes. Simon is humble in front of all that, no prophet could send him away from his skin, no god could make him disavow this miracle in flesh and bones, no sacred book could make him hope in something better.

Apocalypse, revolution, heaven or hell, the spirit, the soul… nothing holds a thing against Kieren. Never had and never will. He has been deemed as a traitor, he that once was a disciple. He doesn’t care, he has found true heaven, has been baptised in the other’s kiss, he confesses with his body and touch, their embrace is all the church he needs, his heart the only altar to which he bows and if someone will ever try to hurt him, defending Kieren will be his only holy war.

Oh, his moans are much better than any hymn and he is determined to squeeze them all out of his throat until he’s sore. He’s almost afraid when they finally make love, because it’s Kieren’s first time and he doesn’t want to hurt him, he couldn’t forgive himself if he did. But then everything falls in place, as if they had always been meant to be doing that, the feeling is so intense they both are breathless, it’s brief, though. Because passion takes hold of them, running through their nerves, biting at them until they both are a hot mess.

There isn’t “what he believes” and “Kieren”, not anymore. Now it all comes down to him, what he believes and the other are the same thing and it liberates them, what they do. Cuts through the pain and the happiness, it burns away the grief and feeds on all the sensations they had forgotten how to feel. As his touch, his body is welcoming, pliant and hot, there’s no other place he needs to be, no other crusade he’s meant to bring forth, he only needs to see the other drown in pleasure and shatter.

There’s no place for spirit and faith, now it all passes through body and sensation, soul and flesh are the same. He needs proof, he wants to see with his eyes and touch with his hand, the rapture passes through the orgasm. And how it suits Kieren, he arches and cries out, clawing desperately on his shoulders, his body trembling and twitching prettily until Simon can’t hold back anymore and takes his leap of faith, following him over the edge.

In the silence that falls they both pick up their shattered thoughts, Simon sees even more how empty his first life had been and how dry his previous faith, he had never felt something like that and he’s finally purified. He lifts himself to be able to look down at the other, he’s worried and scared and stupidly happy, but he can’t shake the feeling that he has just defiled something pure. It all crumbles when Kieren smiles up at him, it’s shy and beautiful and he can’t help but kiss him stupid.

That’s perfection, right there, he’s part of it and he knows that if he was one of the poets he used to read, he could probably find the right words. But he’s no magician with them anymore and he’s no poet. He loses his way with words and then there’s only honesty. So after everything, after bliss, it all comes down to three words really.

“I love you”.


End file.
